Modesty was his hallmark ...

As early as 2000, Emil Giezendanner wrote a tribute to Hanno in the May 2000 issue of mfs titled “Model Flying as a Lifelong Passion.” I also drew various details about Hanno and his activities from this article, as well as the photo of him with his yellow Piper.

Raised near Boston, Massachusetts, Hanno took up model flying at an early age. At 20, he decided to become a singer and studied at the conservatory in Zurich. After completing his studies, he remained in Switzerland, got married, and the Pfeiffers welcomed their daughter Sylvia. In addition to his work as a musician, he built and developed models such as the “Gummi-Lerche,” a free-flight model with a rubber-powered engine that was sold both as a blueprint and as a kit by the Streil company, where he worked for a time. Hanno was one of the founding members of the—

He was a member of the Grischhei Model Aircraft Club and was kindness personified. I never once heard him make even the slightest disparaging remark about a colleague. His subtle sense of humor was legendary.

Since I myself spent about 10 years trying to support my family as a professional musician, I believe I’m in a position to offer an objective assessment of Hanno’s talents. Hanno not only had a beautiful voice, but he also possessed the universal talent to master every musical style perfectly—from classical to Negro spirituals to pop. He performed as a soloist at local concerts, made radio recordings, and in his younger years after the war even sang for the GIs (U.S. soldiers) at military bases in Germany. But Hanno lacked the “grit” and the ambition needed to schmooze his way into the right circles to land gigs on a truly grand, international stage—the kind that would have truly matched his talent. Yet Hanno saw things a little differently. Hanno once whispered to me behind closed doors: “You know, I ruined my musical career with model airplane flying...” →

He gave me what was, for me, the most beautiful concert of all—just for me—on a lovely, warm summer evening at the airfield of our model flying club, Grischhei. Hanno owed me a tiny little favor for something, and I asked him to sing a song just for me. So he performed the song “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” for me in such a way that it felt as if he were standing before a large audience at Carnegie Hall. For me, this “performance” was one of the greatest musical experiences! Unfortunately, Hanno came over to our house far too rarely. Then Hanno would sing, my wife Maja would play the piano, and I’d pluck away at the double bass.

Hanno loved building and flying smaller vintage model airplanes—made of wood, of course. Styrofoam was an abomination to him, but he admired the excellent flight characteristics of my

foam models and kept talking about maybe getting one of those “shameful” models after all. But it never came to that, because Hanno had his pride.

For decades, Hanno and I passionately indulged in model flying. The biggest model Hanno ever built and flew was the Fleet Trainer (1934) powered by a Saito 120. So there we were, flying side by side in our biplanes: Hanno in the Fleet Trainer and I in the Tiger Moth—which I’d borrowed from my son—powered by a 30-ccm Laser four-stroke engine. It wasn’t just a joy to watch in the air, but also a musical delight to hear. When it came to gliders, smaller vintage models were the norm. Hanno was a passionate fan of free flight and rubber-powered models. He loved engines powered by diesel or carbon dioxide. However, we had our best towed flight experience with my Graupner

Jodel Robin with a 2.4-meter wingspan (OS GT55) and Hanno with a 4-meter high-performance glider. With the dawn of the LiPo brushless era, whisper-quiet electric tows—using slightly smaller models—became possible for the first time outside the flight times permitted for powered flight.

Hanno was also very modest when it came to assessing his flying skills, describing himself as a mediocre pilot. But that wasn’t true at all, because although he wasn’t a virtuoso aerobatic pilot, he had complete mastery over his models and flew them true to scale and with great reliability. In Bruno Ferrari and Dominique Vultier, he found comrades who helped him break in delicate, self-built models.

His transport cases, built specifically for these models, were legendary. This is how I commented on his arrival with the largest suitcase—in which

his disassembled Fleet Trainer was stored—as follows: “Are you playing the double bass again today?” If he brought smaller models in boxes of various sizes, those were then violins, violas, or cellos.

Whenever Hanno lost something, he always had a patron saint by his side. That was Saint Anthony, who can help people find lost items. He told us that after praying to this saint and promising a donation to the Frauental monastery near our flying field, he had managed to find just about everything he’d lost. He explained to me exactly how it was supposed to work. But Saint Anthony didn’t answer my prayers. It was a completely different story for Hanno. One fine day, when yet another free-flight model had gone missing somewhere on the grounds after a long flight, proof came that this always worked for Hanno. Together with my son Felix, I first searched the entire area in question for the model, and after a long, long time, we called off the search. But then Hanno arrived, called upon his patron saint, promised him a generous donation to the monastery, and ran straight to the model, which was hidden somewhere! After his success, I tried to convince Hanno that he possessed a sixth sense that enabled him to find such things after a brief meditation. But Hanno was stubborn: “It’s Saint Anthony who’s helping me!” And when I asked why this saint didn’t respond to my pleas, he replied plainly: “Because you don’t believe in him!” And Hanno was absolutely right…! Actually, I can only quote Shakespeare here: “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your schoolbook wisdom” (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5).

Seaplane flying was very important to Hanno. Not just because he lived near Lake Zurich, but because he often spent his vacations in a log cabin in Finland and, of course, always brought along one or two seaplane models. He also loved flying seaplanes on Swiss mountain lakes, such as Lake Klöntal.

On Lake Zurich, Hanno invited me a few times to paddle out onto the lake in his narrow kayak and launch our seaplane models there. It was very exciting on that wobbly platform. Things got critical

when a model threatened to disappear behind my back. Only by carefully twisting my back and neck muscles could I keep an eye on it and steer it without tipping out of the boat. Back in the days of combustion-engine-powered flight, Hanno would tie his seaplane model to the front of the boat with a string and let himself be pulled out onto the lake and back again!

In early February 2018, the time had come: Hanno left this world at the age of 89 following a stroke and

receiving the best care at Horgen Hospital. When I think of him, I’m not just sad, because the memories of the hours we spent together are so bright and full of joy that they outshine the grief over the loss of one of my best friends.

Although Saint Anthony has so far failed to help me find my lost

—despite my delicious promises of offerings!—I would like to thank him most sincerely for allowing me to find the highly talented yet always humble Hanno and for letting me spend such a wonderful time with him...

Hans-Jürg Baum